


Respiratory Arrest

by Just_Mad_Enough



Series: Negligible Senescence [7]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Hope, Hopeful Ending, no idea where some of that came from, weird theories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-25 08:57:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13830795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_Mad_Enough/pseuds/Just_Mad_Enough
Summary: Respiratory arrest is caused by apnea (cessation of breathing) due to failure of the lungs to function effectively. Apnea is defined as "the cessation of breathing". Prolonged apnea refers to a patient who has stopped breathing for a long period of time.





	Respiratory Arrest

**Author's Note:**

> Back as promised!  
> THANK YOU ScooterThyme for being a great (and INCREDIBLY FAST) betareader!

She can still remember it so clearly, the day she and her husband had decided they’d been alone for long enough. They coalesced, and the universe around them pulsed and set itself alight, and then they were parents.

That hadn’t been the word they used for it at first, but then, there weren’t all that many words anyway. No language made of speech, only thoughts and feelings. They had been whole and something like happy, then.

But their children hadn’t been like them. They had bodies and they grew weary, floating around in the endless Nothingness that was everything.

So then they built a home for their family. A city of white stone and silver spires, with rolling, green hills and gardens of so many colors surrounding them, they _had_ to find words to describe them all.  Speech and language came next, and some kind of order and hierarchy asserted itself.

Some of her children turned into artists, some into scholars, and a few made themselves into warriors, though there was no need for anyone to go to war yet.

But the bigger her family grew, the bigger the resentment from the other side of their universe became - the dark corners where every bad thought and mood went to, before they poured their energy into shaping and creating. Over time, those thoughts and feelings floated together as well, but instead of children, gardens and palaces, they created a world of wretched creatures, dark stone and fire.

It was a good thing, then, that some of her children had fashioned weapons, and some others learned to use them.

Wars happened, then. Sons and daughters were lost, turned to stone, floating around in the Nothingness where all began.

And then the brightest, the most beautiful of them all couldn’t stand the fact that his siblings should be alone, cold and in the dark, forever.

He set out, visited each and every one of them, and left a little of his own light with them. It had been nothing but a nice sentiment – there was nothing of the person left they had been. But it was still a balm to her sore heart, to look out and see them shining all around them, silent sentinels in the dark.

Her husband’s little pet-project… _humans_ … had named them stars. And then in turn, named the stars, thought up pictures and constellations in them and named _those_. She sometimes wondered what their reaction would be if they ever found out that those pretty, sparkling lights – sometimes the only hope to find back home – where really headstones.

That the whole universe around them was just one, big graveyard.

Right now, though, all she could do was stare down at another son, nearly lost. Another son, soon to be nothing but stone.

Someone had dug the grave up, but she didn’t care. All she cared about was the fact that no one would carry him up to his brothers and sisters, that no one would leave a spark of light in him. He would lie in these woods, forgotten and alone, and there was nothing she could do to help him.

All his… friends. And the little Lilim. Even smart, strong Amenadiel. They all thought he was gone already. She knew better, knew that there was still something of him left but… she was alone down here, trapped in a human body. And even if she weren’t, even if she could reach the heights of her power here, she wouldn’t be able to help him. She’d need her husband for that, and she hadn’t worked with him to create anything but hate and resentment for a very, very long time.

But. Her son was fading more and more, right in front of her eyes. Holding on, trying to fight his way back, yet losing.

She fell to her knees then, put her hands together and prayed. It was a long shot. He hadn’t answered anyone’s prayers in centuries, apparently.

But estranged and at war or not, she is still his wife, and this is still his son, and he better drag his ass out of his lovely little realm and help, or there would be Words.

And she knows that is something he would want to avoid. The last time they had Words, it had resulted in an Ice Age so bitter and cold that some places in Hell had ceased to burn. There was still ash falling, in some places.

So she knelt in front of the open grave, and she prayed and she waited.

_Please. Please, you bastard. I hate you. I love you. I_ need _you. Don’t do this. Don’t make me lose hope in you. I couldn’t bear to go on like that, and I don’t know how to die. I don’t think that I am_ able _to, so I need you to help me. Please._

*** *** ***

She hadn’t been out there to visit him for five days; had needed to be home with Trixie, to hold her at night when she cried in her sleep because her friend was gone.

And also, it hurt. To look at him, to see him, pale and still, and yet nothing like a human in his death. Every time she looked, she waited for him to take a deep breath, smirk and tell her _just yanking your chain_.

She feels sick to her stomach every time she hopes for blackening skin and decay. But at least she would know. She wouldn’t be left to wonder if this was just some Angel thing, or even a _Lucifer_ thing – him, being contrary even in death. She could’ve asked Amenadiel, but she couldn’t bear to have an answer, either. Tortured by her lack of knowledge, and afraid that knowing would hurt even more.

But she doesn’t know what to do, and it’s eating at her the same way the worms should be eating at _him_.

Hurting or not though, she needs to get to him. She left the grave open the last time. Doesn’t know why, really. Maybe she hoped that fresh air, rain and sunshine would do the trick (she doesn’t know which trick, to be honest. Wake him? Make him decay?).

But she can’t leave it that way indefinitely. Someone was bound to find it, find _him_ , that way. But it’s a far-out place, and the property belongs ( _belonged_ , fuck) to Lucifer, so it’s private.

She reaches the place a little after sundown. Thinks she is alone, at first. But as she draws near, she sees the kneeling, unmoving form of Charlotte-Richards-who- _isn’t_ -Charlotte-Richards.

The woman doesn’t move or acknowledge her any way, so she decides to stay. She comes to a stop next her and then, after a moment, sits down exactly like she had the other night. Feet dangling down, fingers buried in fallen leaves and soil.

His face still looks the same, still normal, as do his hands. Well. There’s dirt on him, which is very far from normal for Lucifer. She had gotten earth on him, when she’d dug him up, and then the rain had tried to wash some of it away – and nature is an obviously cruel bitch, because the streaks through the dirt look like tear tracks.

She sits there for maybe an hour – or maybe a year, who knows anymore? – before the woman (the Goddess, his _mother_ ) finally moves from her kneeling position. Her knees make cracking noises when she gets up, and she can hear her spine pop back into alignment as she sits down next to her. They’re silent for a while longer.

“You’re a Miracle. Did they tell you that?”

She blinks, nods and begins to answer, but shuts her mouth again. Waits for more to come.

“I was trying to talk to my husband. I don’t know if he can hear though. I’m not a human, I don’t have a soul – or even a body, really. Our children can reach each other by prayer. If they pray to him, he can hear them, and the same is true for me. But I never tried to communicate with him that way – and then we stopped communicating at all. But you’re a Miracle, and you’re human, so he’s bound to hear you. Would you try?”

She thinks for a moment. Doesn’t really know how to answer here. She doesn’t want to pray. Not to God, at least. She really just wants to punch him, to be honest.

But she also doesn’t want to be contrary just for the heck of it, so she gives the other woman the benefit of the doubt.

“What would I pray for?”

Pause. She doesn’t think that The Goddess Of All Creation is used to having her motives questioned. But she gets an answer anyway.

“A spark. _Help_.”

The words are said with an inflection she can’t quite put a name to, but they also tell her that there is still something left to do, that she was right to not want him buried.

She clasps her hands together so hard her knuckles turn white and her fingers start to hurt nearly immediately, but she doesn’t care. She’s never been religious at all, never been to mass. But it still comes naturally at that moment. All she has to do is look down, take in the paths the rain made on his cheeks, his messed hair and ruined suit, and the words form in her mind as though they’d always been there.

His pale, unblemished face never looked so beautiful to her.

*** END ***

**Author's Note:**

> So. We're at a crossroads, now. There's ONE more part left - either he dies for good, or they get him back.  
> I STILL haven't decided.  
> Do you guys have a preference? I mean, I got quite some reviews, wishing for a happy end. But do you think it would actually fit?  
> I'm open for suggestions at this point!  
> See you soon!


End file.
